By the time Eryndor realized he was lost, he had already decided he wasn't.
There was a difference.
Being lost implied a mistake.
He was simply somewhere he hadn't intended to be.
That sounded better.
Velkaris Prime had too many streets.
That was the city's greatest strength and its most irritating quality.
A road built centuries ago could suddenly narrow into an alley filled with modern glass signs. A stone courtyard could open into a district of towering buildings threaded together by suspended walkways. Martial schools operated beside mechanical workshops. Relic merchants shared streets with ordinary bakeries.
And the food—
Eryndor had discovered the food.
That was why he had stopped caring where he was.
A fragrance drifted across the street.
He stopped.
Elira, who had been walking several paces behind him, nearly walked into his back.
"Why did you stop?"
Eryndor looked toward a restaurant.
"I smelled something."
Elira stared.
"That's usually how smells work."
He ignored her.
The restaurant was small, with dark wooden beams and red lanterns hanging beneath its roof. Steam clouded the windows. Several characters were painted across a hanging sign, though Eryndor couldn't read them.
He pointed.
"What is that?"
"Food."
He turned.
Elira sighed.
"That's a restaurant."
"I know."
"Then why are you asking?"
"What do they serve?"
She looked at the sign again.
"Mostly noodles, dumplings, rice dishes, grilled meat..."
Eryndor opened the door.
Elira stared after him.
"That was fast."
"I was hungry."
"You just ate."
"That was earlier."
"It was forty minutes ago."
Eryndor stopped.
"That's earlier."
Elira followed him inside.
"You're becoming a problem."
The restaurant smelled wonderful.
That settled the matter.
The owner, an older woman named Mei Lian, greeted them from behind the counter. She wore a dark red jacket with embroidered cuffs and spoke with a warm smile.
Eryndor studied the menu.
He recognized almost none of it.
That interested him more than it should have.
"What do you recommend?"
Mei Lian looked at him.
"You like spicy?"
"I don't know."
She paused.
Elira laughed.
"You don't know?"
"I haven't tried it."
"That's not what she meant."
"I know."
Mei Lian smiled.
"Try the hand-pulled noodles. And the dumplings."
Eryndor nodded.
"Both."
Elira sat down.
"You're ordering two meals?"
"She recommended them."
"You don't have to obey every recommendation."
Eryndor looked at the woman.
"She owns the restaurant."
Elira stared.
"That's your reasoning?"
"She probably knows what tastes good."
Mei Lian laughed.
"He's right."
Elira pointed at Eryndor.
"Don't encourage him."
The noodles arrived first.
The broth was rich and fragrant, with green vegetables, sliced meat, herbs and long strands of handmade noodles.
Eryndor took his first bite.
He stopped.
Elira noticed.
"What?"
He swallowed.
"Nothing."
"That's your 'I like it' face."
"I don't have a face for that."
"You do."
Eryndor took another bite.
Then another.
Elira smiled.
"You're not even going to deny it?"
"No."
She laughed.
He continued eating.
The dumplings arrived shortly afterward.
Eryndor looked at them.
Then at the noodles.
Then at Elira.
She immediately understood.
"No."
"I haven't said anything."
"Your face did."
"I'm considering."
"You're ordering another meal."
"Maybe."
"You've already eaten."
Eryndor looked genuinely confused.
"Why do you keep mentioning that?"
Elira stared at him.
"You're impossible."
He called the waiter.
"Another—"
"No."
Eryndor looked at her.
Elira folded her arms.
"You haven't finished the first bowl."
He looked down.
The bowl was nearly empty.
He thought about it.
Then pushed the dumplings toward her.
"Fine."
Elira's expression softened.
"You're giving them to me?"
"No."
Her expression hardened again.
"I'm testing whether you like them."
She stared.
"You just said you were giving them to me."
"I changed my mind."
"You're a terrible person."
Eryndor smiled faintly.
"Apparently."
She took one anyway.
Across the restaurant, someone was watching them.
Eryndor noticed after the third dumpling.
Not because the person stared.
Because they stopped staring.
The man sat alone near the window.
He looked ordinary.
That was the problem.
Dark hair.
Plain gray coat.
No visible weapon.
No unusual markings.
He had been reading a newspaper.
Then Eryndor noticed something.
The man wasn't reading.
His eyes hadn't moved across the page once.
Eryndor lowered his chopsticks.
Elira noticed immediately.
"What?"
"Nothing."
She followed his gaze.
The man was gone.
Elira's hand moved beneath the table.
Eryndor stopped her.
"Don't."
"Why?"
"Everyone will notice."
"Someone was watching us."
"Yes."
"And you're not concerned?"
"I am."
"You're very bad at showing it."
Eryndor looked at her.
"That's useful."
"Sometimes."
He returned to his food.
Elira watched him.
Then she quietly said:
"You're going to investigate."
"No."
She blinked.
"No?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because whoever it was wanted me to notice."
That made her stop.
Eryndor looked toward the window.
"He made sure I saw him."
"Then what?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"Not yet."
Elira slowly nodded.
She understood.
Sometimes the smartest response to a threat was refusing to give it the reaction it wanted.
They left the restaurant nearly an hour later.
Eryndor had ordered the dumplings anyway.
Elira had eaten half of them.
He considered this theft.
She called it compensation.
The rain had stopped.
The streets glittered beneath the evening lights.
Eryndor looked at the city.
A Japanese restaurant stood beside a bakery. Across the road, a Korean grill sent smoke into the night. Farther down the avenue, a brightly painted restaurant served African dishes from several regions.
People crowded the sidewalks.
A group of young martial artists walked past in loose robes and modern sneakers.
A woman in a tailored suit spoke to someone through a floating relic display.
A man wearing traditional clothing rode past on a sleek mechanical bicycle.
Nobody seemed to think the combination strange.
It was simply Velkaris.
Elira noticed Eryndor staring.
"You like the city."
"I like the food."
"Of course."
He glanced toward the African restaurant.
"What is that?"
Elira followed his gaze.
"A restaurant."
"I know."
"Then why—"
"What do they serve?"
She laughed.
"You've learned nothing."
"I'm hungry."
"You just ate."
Eryndor looked at her.
"That was earlier."
Elira stopped walking.
"You're going to destroy your stomach."
"Probably."
She stared at him.
Then began walking again.
"Fine."
Eryndor followed.
The restaurant specialized in dishes from several distant regions.
The menu alone occupied two pages.
Eryndor looked at it.
"Interesting."
Elira leaned over his shoulder.
"What are you choosing?"
He pointed.
"That."
"Jollof?"
"Yes."
"You don't even know what it is."
"That's why I'm ordering it."
Elira shook her head.
The food arrived.
Rice cooked in a rich tomato-based sauce, grilled meat, fried plantain, vegetables and a spicy sauce.
Eryndor tasted it.
He paused.
Elira watched.
"Well?"
Eryndor took another bite.
Then another.
"Good."
"That's it?"
"Very good."
She smiled.
"You've finally discovered seasoning."
Eryndor gave her a look.
"I've always known seasoning."
"Your face during the noodles suggested otherwise."
"You're becoming irritating."
"I learned from you."
He looked at her.
She smiled.
For several seconds neither spoke.
Then Eryndor laughed.
Quietly.
Naturally.
Elira noticed.
Again.
She didn't mention it this time.
Later that night, Eryndor returned to the inn alone.
The corridor was quiet.
He reached his room.
Stopped.
The door was slightly open.
His hand moved toward the knife beneath his coat.
He pushed the door inward.
Nothing.
The room looked untouched.
Bed.
Desk.
Window.
Chair.
He stepped inside.
Then saw the plate.
It sat on the table.
One dumpling.
Cold.
Eryndor stared at it.
His eyes narrowed.
A folded piece of paper rested beneath it.
He picked it up.
Three words.
You chose well.
Eryndor's expression changed.
He looked toward the window.
Closed.
No footprints.
No disturbed curtains.
Nothing.
His fingers tightened around the paper.
The restaurant.
Someone had been watching.
But that wasn't what bothered him.
The person knew what he'd eaten.
Eryndor slowly sat.
The dumpling remained on the plate.
He didn't touch it.
Three floors below, a different conversation was taking place.
Kael sat at a table with an Imperial officer.
The officer was older.
Gray hair.
Military uniform.
One eye replaced by a small relic lens.
A map covered the table.
Kael looked at it.
"Where?"
The officer pointed.
"Three locations."
"Same group?"
"We don't know."
Kael frowned.
"Then don't call them a group."
The officer looked irritated.
"Three separate incidents."
"Better."
"All involve Regressors."
Kael became still.
The officer continued.
"Two were killed."
"And the third?"
"Missing."
Kael studied the map.
"Concept User involvement?"
"Unknown."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the answer we have."
Kael leaned back.
The officer looked at him.
"There's another problem."
Kael's expression remained flat.
"Of course there is."
"Eryndor."
Kael's eyes narrowed.
"What about him?"
"Someone has been asking questions."
"Who?"
"We don't know."
Kael looked toward the window.
The city lights reflected across his face.
"Then find out."
"We've tried."
Kael's fingers rested on the table.
"Try harder."
The officer studied him.
"You seem personally interested."
Kael looked back.
"No."
"Then why are you involved?"
Kael was silent.
He thought about Eryndor.
A Regresser.
Unstable.
Incomplete.
A person who should eventually move toward a Concept.
Except Eryndor didn't seem to be moving toward anything.
He was moving strangely.
Backwards.
Toward something.
Kael didn't know what.
And he didn't like unknowns.
Especially unknowns that other people were already hunting.
"Because he's an Imperial concern."
The officer smiled faintly.
"That's the official answer."
Kael's eyes hardened.
"It's the only one you're getting."
At the edge of the city, a woman walked through an alley.
She was beautiful.
Too beautiful for the place.
Her pale face was illuminated by a flickering street lamp. Long black hair fell over her shoulders, and a dark crimson coat reached almost to her ankles.
Blood covered her hands.
Not a little.
Enough that it dripped onto the stones.
She stopped beside a corpse.
A young man.
His throat had been opened.
The woman crouched.
She touched one finger to the blood.
Smiled.
"Still warm."
Another figure stood behind her.
"You killed him for nothing."
She looked back.
"Nothing?"
Her smile widened.
"He screamed beautifully."
The other figure stared at her.
"You are sick."
"Yes."
She looked at the blood on her finger.
Then licked it.
The other figure's expression tightened.
"You're disgusting."
The woman laughed.
"That's what everyone says before they die."
She stood.
Her crimson coat moved gently in the night air.
Then she looked toward Velkaris.
"Did you find the Regresser?"
"No."
Her smile disappeared.
"Then find him."
"And if he resists?"
She looked at the corpse beneath her.
Then back.
"Bring me the blood."
Far above them, on a rooftop, a boy sat beside a chimney eating roasted meat.
He watched the city.
He had been forgotten by most people who had met him.
Not dead.
Not erased.
Simply overlooked.
A minor figure from an earlier incident.
A face that had appeared briefly.
A name nobody had thought important.
He bit into the meat.
"Still alive."
He smiled.
"That's nice."
Then he looked toward the Imperial district.
His smile vanished.
"Unfortunately."
Eryndor remained awake.
The dumpling sat untouched on his table.
He had tried to sleep.
He had failed.
Not because of fear.
Because he couldn't stop thinking about the note.
You chose well.
The words were simple.
Almost friendly.
That was what made them worse.
His eyes moved toward the window.
Velkaris glittered outside.
Somewhere, people were eating.
Somewhere, people were fighting.
Somewhere, someone was dying.
Somewhere, someone was falling in love.
The city didn't care.
Neither did the world.
It continued.
Eryndor touched the paper.
His thoughts became quiet.
Then—
a memory surfaced.
A room.
A table.
Food.
Someone sitting opposite him.
A voice saying:
"You always choose the same thing."
Eryndor froze.
He didn't know the room.
Didn't know the voice.
Didn't know the person.
And yet—
he knew the feeling.
He had been there.
His breathing slowed.
No.
The memory vanished.
Eryndor stared into the darkness.
A Regressor was supposed to experience instability.
Fragments.
Temporal distortion.
Critical moments.
But this wasn't a regression.
There was no return.
No rewind.
No change.
It was simply a memory that shouldn't belong to him.
He looked at the untouched dumpling.
Then at the note.
And finally toward the window.
For the first time that night, Eryndor wondered whether the person watching him wasn't interested in his future.
Perhaps they were interested in something much worse.
His past.
And somewhere beneath the city—
someone else was beginning to remember him too.